


astral projector

by milfs



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Background Relationships, Boys Kissing, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Kissing, M/M, dream is down bad, historians would say they were good friends, lapslock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-19 10:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29624823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milfs/pseuds/milfs
Summary: “i’ve never kissed a guy before.”george snorts. “‘s just like kissing a girl, dream. i’m sure you’ll get the hang of it. you’re a quick learner.”“ah i just,” he hopes his next few words don’t come out sounding at all like the ones in his head. “i feel like the stakes would be so much lower if i had a bit of practice.”george laughs wholeheartedly this time, barked out loudly against the morning air. “i’m sure sapnap will be up soon. you guys can get it on all you want then.”dream’s coffee has finished brewing. he uses reaching for it as an excuse to wrap one of his arms around george’s waist. “sapnap’s not awake, though. and i want to practice now.”“what do you suggest we do, then?”there is no way george is this dense.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 39





	astral projector

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic ahahaaa i hope u enjoy!

it’s date night.

for dream, at least.

if there is one thing dream is most ungrateful for in life, it is sapnap’s power to coerce him into practically anything. usually, it doesn’t go much farther than an embarrassing dare or an extra shot of whatever rancid concoction he had made. 

usually.

dream is now going on a date. with a man. who is not. george. 

george, his beautiful, wonderful roommate who is a bit catlike in that he’s a bit prickly but will also crawl into your lap and take up 100% of your time and space until he’s back to being aloof and standoffish again. 

dream is a little (see: a lot) infatuated with him.

and when a random (but very handsome) man had come up to dream the night before and asked him out to dinner, and sapnap had elbowed dream and wiggled his eyebrows and george had just stared at him in that distant way he does sometimes, dream had said  _ yes _ .

waking up is a feat, but he can smell george struggling with the keurig and hauls himself out of bed for his daily dose of caffeine and sleepy half-affection from george.

george, who is standing in the kitchen aggressively shaking a bear-shaped bottle of honey over his teacup like it’ll pull the honey down into the nozzle any faster. his hair is mussed with sleep and his face is puffy from all of the beer they had had the night before. 

he’s barely ambulant, nearly burning himself in his exhaustion and above it all, he looks  _ soft _ . the ends of his basketball shorts are just barely visible beneath the hem of the too-big black hoodie he had borrowed (see:  stolen ) from dream’s closet in his drunken stupor and dream feels his fingers twitch where they hang at his sides as he fights to hold himself back from just jumping the poor guy. 

dream clears his throat and wills away the images that flicker in his mind and in front of his eyes, walks over to george in a bit of a daze, learning over him to put a random k-cup into the keurig and brew it, hoping for the best.

“g’morning, george.” 

george leans back into him, stilling his hands and not meeting dreams eyes as the honey begins to fall from the bottle. the hoodie’s loose around his neckline, and dream can smell the remnants of his own shampoo in george’s hair and it makes him lose his mind a little.

“i have a date tonight,” george’s head tips back and he looks at him, still silent. “with a man.”

george’s face screws up at that, clearing his throat softly, he asks, “what does that matter?”

_ it doesn’t _ , dream thinks.  _ he’s just not you. _

“i’ve never kissed a guy before.”

george snorts. “‘s just like kissing a girl, dream. i’m sure you’ll get the hang of it. you’re a quick learner.”

“ah i just,” he hopes his next few words don’t come out sounding at all like the ones in his head. “i feel like the stakes would be so much lower if i had a bit of practice.”

george laughs wholeheartedly this time, barked out loudly against the morning air. “i’m sure sapnap will be up soon. you guys can get it on all you want then.”

dream’s coffee has finished brewing. he uses reaching for it as an excuse to wrap one of his arms around george’s waist. “sapnap’s not awake, though. and i want to practice now.”

“what do you suggest we do, then?”

there is no way george is this dense.

“you know what they say, george. nothing more heterosexual than kissing the homies. i am a proud—” this is painful. “homiesexual.”

“what?” george rolls his eyes. “are you suggesting we kiss instead?”

“sure. nothing wrong with a little educational bromance.”

george sips at his tea, smacks his lips together in thought. “i don’t know, dream. that seems a bit intense for just bromance.”

“come on, george,” dream jabs at his ribs through the fleecy sweater. delights in the way george jumps and turns to face him. “for me? for the wellbeing of my date?” their kitchen is spacious, but the keurig rests at the junction between two counter spaces and george is stuck between a rock and the embodiment of serotonin inside the body of a 6’3 male.

george grasps at strings. “we should make a contract.” 

dream hums, stemming closer to george, practically caging him in against the kitchen counters. “a contract?”

“yes. we should— we should think this through,” george gulps, eyes wide as he cranes his neck to look up at dream. they’re close, too close, and george can feel the impending soreness in his nape. 

“what would be in this contract, georgie?”

“one kiss,” george’s hands come to rest on dream’s chest. a constant pressure, a patient warning. “just so you get it over with.”

dream leans forward again as george leans back. “there’s more?”

“no strings.” 

a smile pulls at dream’s mouth as he pushes forward, hands fisted in the fabric of his hoodie on george’s lithe frame. george meets him in the middle, or at least he attempts to, rising up onto his tip-toes and sliding his arms up until they’re hooked around dream’s neck in a loose embrace. 

kissing george isn’t as unfamiliar as dream had expected. nothing like the unfamiliarity of kissing a girl for the first time in eighth grade had been. 

girls are all soft edges, dream had learned. all round eyes, cherubic beauty, rose-petal lips. george is similar, but so different. 

his lips are plump, and they're nice and soft but they're  _ george _ . timid, warm, a little sweet (a little lethargic). it’s characteristic to say the least, not at all as unfamiliar as dream had been expecting. 

sure, he had never kissed george (or any man, for that matter) before, but he had  _ lived _ around him enough for this to come easily to him. so when dream pulls away and catches the faint image of george’s face through the milky haze in his eyes, all swaddled in dream’s much-too-large hoodie, he can’t help but go back in for another, harder.

_ stop, _ his mind screams. he ignores it, shucks a hand up the hem of george’s sweater, rests a warm hand on cool skin. grips.  _ this wasn’t a part of the— _

“ _ contract _ ,” george gasps, pulling away. he shudders when dream drops his head into the crook of his shoulder, teeth sharp at the jut of george’s clavicle. “dream this isn’t —  _ ah _ . part of the contract —  _ where _ did you learn how to do this?”

dream finally takes mercy on him, leaning back to admire the lovebites he’s given george, thinks about how the bruises will look on george’s pale skin when they’ve fully formed: dark and plum-coloured, blooms of allium on his collarbones like pomegranate seeds in the palm of persephone, deadly in their temptation. “hm?” 

george seems to shrink back into himself then, hands coming up in front of his chest to protect himself. his fingers brush over the bruises littered over his exposed collarbone and he frowns. “dream, i am not about to be some dumb first kiss story for you to tell your friends.”

“so don’t be.” dream takes george’s wrist in his hand and gently angles it away from his body. drops a kiss on the inside of it before swooping forward to brush one more to the warmed plane of george’s cheek. 

george scoffs. “alright. then what? you ditch your plans and we run to the nearest court to get married? don’t be stupid.”

_ yes _ , dream wants to say. 

“no strings, remember?”

“right,” george turns his pretty brown eyes on him then. “go on then.”

and dream does. kisses george until they’ve gone a bit boneless, until he has to break the kiss and hoist george onto the counter by his thighs and kiss him again and again there. kisses him until his lungs burn and he can’t tell whether his mind is spinning from its lack of oxygen or the way george’s hands find themselves pulling his hair to signal that it’s  _ too much _ . 

their voices are gravelly when george pulls back to gasp for air and dream turns to bite a grin into george’s neck.

“you,” george laughs, winded, “are insatiable.”

dream laughs with him but can’t find himself disagreeing as his hands dance across the smooth skin of george’s thighs and stomach. never getting too close, never straying too far. “how could i not be? look at you.”

a blush brims the height of george’s cheekbones and travels down his neck, disappearing into the teasing dip of george’s (dream’s) hoodie. 

distantly, dream hears the keurig beep again, can’t bring himself to mourn the loss of his coffee when george is hooking his ankles behind dream’s back and slipping a deft hand under his chin and through his hair. “are you falling for me, dream?”

playful. it’s dream’s turn to flush, red sweet on tan skin. “as if,” he says, strained.

george clicks his tongue, thumb continuing to brush the darling arch of dream’s cheekbones as he leans closer. he speaks like he has a secret, hushed and reserved. “

george doesn’t meet his eyes. “i think,” he smooths out the wrinkles in dream’s nightshirt — some old faded thing that reminds him a lot of a different home. “i think you are all good to go for your date tonight.”

his hands drop. dream takes a step back. the silence grows, apprehensive. 

_ i’m rather touchy, you know.  _ dream recalls george telling him.  _ tell me if it gets to be too much. _

_ you could never be too much, george _ . dream was — is — lovesick. 

_ mhm. _ george had curled into his side then, mildly focused on the american football running its course on their television.  _ sorry if you get too much too, dream, and i choose to run away. _

whiplash is nothing new for george.  _ with _ george. 

“okay, george. wish me luck.”

“sure.”

**Author's Note:**

> if you don't leave comments rn.... i am going to be under ur bed. /j
> 
> but seriously!! if you enjoyed say smth i'd appreciate it sm <3


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